Miriam rose and went to the drawing-room, and almost immediately afterwards, the Marquess left the table, saying, as he passed Heyton, "That port is rather heavy, Percy; don't drink too much of it." The weak and vicious face grew red and, with a sneer, Heyton retorted, "Oh, if you begrudge me a glass of wine----" But he spoke under his breath, and the Marquess apparently did not hear him.
Heyton finished the decanter and then, with a rather unsteady step, betook himself to the smoking-room, fell into a chair and rang the bell for coffee and cognac.

He drank off the brandy, and took the telegram from his pocket.

It was still in his hand when Miriam came into the room, closing the door behind her.

She stood regarding him in silence for a moment, with the look of the disappointed woman in her eyes.

Not for the first time did she realise the folly of her conduct; she had thrown over Derrick Dene for title and position; they were hers now, but to get them she had sold herself to a man whom she had learned to despise.
"Phew!" she breathed.